Raindrops
by solitaires a bitch
Summary: Sometimes...the rain reveals things that you're afraid of. HouseCameron one shot


disclaimer: DON'T OWN!

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Cameron looked down at the table, tears stinging her eyes as House went back to reading his menu. Why in the hell had she asked him that? She had known, somewhere in the not House-addled portion of her brain, that he would answer with a harsh, stinging comment, one that would most likely push her away. 

Well…if that was what he wanted, it was going to be what he damn well got.

He looked up, mildly surprised, as her chair made a soft noise of friction as it pushed away from the table. "And you're going where?"

She reached behind herself and grabbed her jacket, swinging it over her shoulders and pulling it around herself. Her fingers toyed with the corsage that he had given her, unconsciously undoing the pin. "You know," she said, and almost winced at the distinct waver in her voice. "There are limits as to how far you can push someone." The pin came undone. "You can insult me, and disregard my opinions, I don't really care. But when you accuse me of being damaged…" She shook the hair out of her eyes, meeting his azure eyes through the shielding of her bangs. "That's where you've lost me." Her fingers stretched out, the corsage falling from her grasp and landing on the table.

He dropped his gaze to the simple arrangement of flowers, staring at it as if he were unable to understand what was going on. He finally looked up from the corsage long enough to search her face for an answer.

"I'm sorry," she said, her face strong, determined, and sad. " Wilson warned me not to break your heart…but what about mine?" She pushed her chair back into the table. "Goodbye, House."

She had barely made it out of the restaurant, smiling politely at the man who held the door open for her, when she heard his voice.

"Do you like running away?"

She paused, her hand already digging through her purse for her keys. His voice wasn't sarcastic in the normal way, and it sounded irritatingly serious.

"I mean, every time I tell you that I don't like you, you seem to disappear on me. Walking away every time you think I'm mean to you isn't as mature as you pride yourself on being. You really have to-"

"Don't," she interrupted, her voice colder than he'd ever imagined possible. "Tell me what to do. Don't criticize me on how I act, you immature son of a bitch." She began walking down the sidewalk towards her car, and could hear the steady thump of his cane over the sound of her shoes clacking against the cement. "Don't you dare ever accuse me of being damaged, or only liking you as a charity case. And don't you damn well call me a coward for running away." She opened her car door. "I'm not the one who had Vogler tell me that I was fired. I'm not the one who can't even handle confrontation with someone who cares about him."

"Vogler did _what_?"

She looked up, startled, when she realized that his voice was right next to her car. She slid inside her car and began to pull the door shut. "You know what he did. You're the one who was going to fire me, after all. I just left before I could get further…" She slammed the door shut. "Damaged."

And he was left standing on a sidewalk, a cane in his right hand that was steadying his balance and a white corsage clutched tightly in his left.

000

As soon as Cameron entered the meeting room, Foreman knew that he had made a massive mistake. Telling House that he should be a mean, sarcastic bastard to someone who actually _cared_ about him? What the hell had he been…

Oh, yeah. _That._

Protecting Cameron from the cold harshness of his boss had become his latest hobby, the activity often keeping him up when he couldn't seem to find himself asleep. She was like a sister to him, and he was ready and willing to play the protective big brother card if necessary. Interrogation of the offending dater was part of the deal, but he hadn't had much expertise in the area; he was beginning to wonder if he had overdone it just a bit.

"So," Chase said, attempting to sound casual. "How did your night go?"

They both flinched when her coffee cup slammed down onto the counter, spilling the steaming liquid onto her hand and the cool plastic. She turned stiffly, glaring at the Australian as if he had called her an obscene name. "I don't think that's any of your business," she said coolly, then turned to walk out the room, her right hand splotched with an angry red burn from where the coffee had touched it.

Foreman grimaced into his mug. Oh yeah…_definitely _over did it.

000

It was a few hours later, and Cameron was sitting, alone, in the meeting room. Her head was firmly clutched between ten perfectly manicured fingers, threads of hair falling between the spaces.

Her hand was throbbing, the area where the coffee had spilled onto more badly burned than she had anticipated. She had rubbed some antiseptic on it, then wrapped it up in some gauze, but she knew that all she could do for this burn was to wait it out.

She sighed, tilting her head to look out the window. It had started raining about forty minutes ago, the drops making a comforting patter against the window panes. There were a few brief flashes of lightning here and there, and the occasional boom of thunder would make her jump in her seat. God, how she loved the rain.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, before remembering that she was in a sterile smelling hospital, and not in the refreshing outdoors. Glancing at her watch, she discovered that she had thirty minutes left to her break and she smiled.

She made her way through the halls and out the double entrance doors, standing under the shield of the roof. She closed her eyes and tilted her head towards the sky, arms wrapping around her middle. She opened her eyes, removed her lab coat, and stepped out from the safety of the building.

The rain was cold, hard, and slightly painful as it hit every spot of her body. It soaked through her hair, and droplets of water ran down the strands and onto her shirt and into her eyes. She felt cold, wet, and all alone.

There was no one in this little world of hers; no arrogant Chase to anger her, no Foreman to tease her, no Vogler to make her want to do _very_ violent things, and no House to make her feel small.

It felt nice.

"You know," said the object of her irritation. "You could catch pneumonia that way."

She didn't look behind her, afraid that if she did she wouldn't be able to control her self. Then, as if rebelling against his wishes, she took a step farther into the rain. "What do you care? Like you said, I like things that are damaged. And, if the thing happens to be me…all the better."

There were a few minutes of silence, then, "What happened to your hand?"

"Coffee. It's dangerous." She turned her head to give the impression that she was looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "I always knew that Starbucks was trying to take over the world." She turned away again, and could've sworn she heard him laugh.

House peered out into the rain as it continued to fall heavily. She looked so…miserable out in the rain: her hair was in wet strands that fell over her shoulders, and her black shirt was sagging slightly with the weight of the water, and he was pretty sure that her shoes couldn't be comfortable when they were flooded with water.

She didn't seem to care. Her face was turned up towards the water (proof that she was wearing water-proof mascara and eye liner) and she was smiling in a way that…

She was smiling.

He liked her smile. It was as if…when she smiled, the rain seemed to fall around her and not _on_ her. Like the only reason (as much of a Petrarchan conceit as it was) that the sun was shining was because it was trying to make up for the times she wasn't smiling, and when she did, it lit up the whole world and even the sun had to hide behind a cloud.

Well…House was hiding. And he sure as hell wasn't the sun. He didn't even have any sunny aspects about him. So…that could only mean one thing.

He stepped out into the rain, taking his time so that his cane wouldn't slip on the wet sidewalk. He came to stand next to her, and could feel the rain slowly soaking through his button down and his Mötley Crüe tee. "Is this what you do in your spare time?"

Her lips twitched, but she didn't answer. He shuffled closer to her, and his left hand found her right one; the sides of their palms touching lightly. He waited until he felt that she would let him be closer, and slipped his warm, calloused hand into her smooth one.

Her grip tightened around his own.

He was forgiven.

000

Sometimes...the rain reveals things that you're afraid of. It might show you what you're missing outside, because you're too busy sitting around. In some places, the rain doesn't fall very often, and in other places...it does. Now, if you're a resident of one of the places where it doesn't rain a lot...

Well, when it does, run outside and stand around while the raindrops hit you. It feels nice. Now, people might think you're a little crazy...hell, YOU might think you're a little crazy. But, if you stand around long enough, someone just might join you.

That someone could be afraid of you; how you make them feel, or how you act, or of the things you do to them. And if you're both looking at the same raindrops as they fall around you...

It's like starting over. You're being cleansed of everything horrible you've ever done to someone or what someone's done to you.

It's like being forgiven by the rain.

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**_The End_**


End file.
